A Kept Man
by Rivka Zara
Summary: Ten years after hs, Kurt's a struggling actor and Dave's a rich businessman.  When the two meet again by chance, Kurt sees Dave's wealth as an easy fix to his problems but Dave's just in it for love.  Can this sugar daddy and his kept man make it work?
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

* * *

><p>Kurt Hummel, 28, grimaced temporarily under the glaring neon lights pulsing overhead in the club, the only indication that he was not totally at ease in the middle of the pounding dance floor. He closed his eyes against all of the skin, skin, skin on display around him and raised his hands to the ceiling, twisting and turning his lithe body in practiced perfection. A thin sheen of secondhand glitter grabbed the light and danced along his nicely sculpted abs—picked up somewhere between taking his shirt off near the bar and coming back to dance.<p>

Suddenly, a pair of thick hands settle around his hips. Kurt's eyes snap open as he tries to hide his instinctual gasp. Not like it would be heard over the music anyway. If people were even still calling this fuzzy mix of synthesized stomping and choked off vocals _music_. You'd think with so many musically talented gays out there that the so-called "community" would have come together and demanded they listen to something better when they go out. No.

All of these thoughts crash through Kurt's head as he tries to turn and catch a glimpse of the interloper still grasping his waist. But the bodies around him are too close, moving too much, and he just can't. Whoever this guy is, he's bold. And Kurt feels a stubbled cheek descend to his ear and say, "You've got a nice ass on you. I want to be in it."

Oh hell no.

Feeling emboldened, Kurt twisted away from this guy's hold and turned to face him. Great, he thought, another geezer. Standing before him with a twisting leer on his face was some guy old enough to, well, be his father. Not that Kurt ever wanted to think about his father in a place like this. But this man must have been pushing at least 60 and it showed all over his scraggly haired chest which was on full display, proud paunch leading the way.

Kurt felt his lip curl and, with as much disgust as he could muster, said: "I already have a dad. I don't need another one."

With that, he made his way over to the bar in the back and tried to signal to the much sought after gorgeous (and so obviously straight) bartender.

A group of young green twinks, laughing enough for everyone at the bar, pushed their way in front of Kurt and immediately grabbed the bartender's attention. Literally. One of the early-20-something (who are we kidding, _teenage_) boys grabbed at the poor man's bicep and starting caressing it coquettishly. Then he pulled the guy toward him and whispered into his ear whatever fruity, minimally alcoholic concoction he could come up with while playing with a crisp 20 dollar bill as if it was almost a public sex act.

Kurt felt himself being pushed aside as if it was a rejection. Fact was, he wasn't as young as he used to be and he felt replaced by the ever younger, ever plentiful twinks that twirled around him with glittery smiles. He used to be like them. He used to shine everywhere. He had been young, brimming with self-confidence and grasping out for all of his dreams-New York, the stage, the fame.

But now, at 28, with a nine-month streak of fruitless auditions behind him, Kurt was starting to feel like he just couldn't do it anymore. Rent was steep, even in his tiny, Brooklyn based closet. If he didn't find real work soon, he'd be out of a home. As is, he was making a lot of concessions to stay where he was. He'd been forgoing lunch for the past year or two. (And really, it was better when you think about it-less calories to work off so no need to keep up that extortionist gym membership.) And re-sewing his old clothes by hand to match the current trends. (Which just made him that much more proud to wear them.) But New York, the city that had once shined on him like a beacon of endless possibility, now seemed to crush him with the despair of anonymity and replaceability.

Kurt wondered when he would be able to face the truth, that he was just another failed actor-mediocre in every way. Sure he was still beautiful and disgustingly talented, but then again, so are most waiters in L.A. Maybe he should just cut his losses and start somewhere new. Try something else. Be somebody else.

Finally, finally, the giggling clique of twinks decided they'd had enough of flirting with the bartender and made to stagger back to the dance floor. One model-gorgeous blonde with perfect teeth and a tequila flavored laugh tripped sloppily over Kurt's shoes, scuffing them beyond repair. He didn't even apologize. Just walked off as if Kurt hadn't even been standing there.

Kurt didn't have much time to dwell on the blatant diss. He had to push forward the foot to the bar before someone stole his place, again. He pulled out his "designer" (TJ Maxx) wallet and calculated what he could afford. His wallet had been getting thinner lately and as he surreptitiously opened it under the bar he noticed only a 5, a 10, and a scruffy looking one dollar bill staring back at him. Well, that ruled out all of his favorite cocktails. Not when most cost around 14 dollars and he needed to refill his MetroCard if there was any chance of him getting home that night. Nope, better stick to some watered down draft beer. Only 5 dollars and at least it'd give him something substantial to throw on that old creep if he tried to touch him again.

Kurt sighed inwardly. What was his life coming to when he became practically invisible to the beautiful men but firmly on the radar of every ugly troll in downtown Manhattan. And _they_probably only liked him because, even at 28, Kurt still couldn't shake that look of pure innocence when he closed his eyes, imagined himself elsewhere, and just danced as if no one was around. That look that sexy, muscled early-20-something guys used to eat up.

Suddenly, Kurt didn't feel much like dancing, or drinking for that matter. He pushed himself away from the bar, all thoughts of his beer forgotten, and struggled anonymously through the dancing bodies to get to the door. Once outside, he let the cool sting of a spring night's breeze play along his exposed skin and wake him up from the depressing, warm haze that was the club. He pulled his crumpled shirt out from his belt loops and put it on as a shield against the night, walking towards the nearest subway.

Kurt hadn't gotten far when his stomach started to growl loudly. Almost absently, he remembered that today he hadn't just skipped lunch, but dinner too. He doubled back and headed for Mamoun's Falafel. Not the healthiest option out there, and he really should be watching his waist line if he ever hopes to land a role this _year_, but a three-dollar dinner sounds wonderful for his budget.

Kurt breaks out into a quiet, self-deprecating laugh. He'd told that old guy he didn't need another dad. But maybe he does. A nice sugar daddy to help pay the cost of his imploding dreams and to make New York City exciting and glamorous again. Yea, he thinks, if only...


	2. Chapter 2

Spring came and went and still Kurt had no job prospects, at least not in the theatre district...or even off-off Broadway. Hell, he'd have settled for a cheesy dinner theatre, if only he could get that. No, Kurt had started working as a Starbucks barista instead. He may have been too washed up to scuff the stages of Broadway with his impassioned dancing, but one was never too washed up to fix the overpriced, bitter coffee that kept this city running.

The job wasn't much but it helped the rent come in on time. Yet, Kurt had done some serious thinking and had decided that if he didn't find something substantial before the summer was out, he wouldn't renew his lease in August. He'd just go back to Ohio and try to restart his life.

Somewhere deep inside of Kurt, in a dark place without hope, he knew with near certainty that this would be his last summer in the city of dreams. He'd have to go home empty-handed.

That's why he was determined to make this Pride, surely his last in New York, a memorable one. The Saturday before Pride, he'd decided to shell out the $30 cover and go to Splash, the bar known for its indoor parade of beautiful young men. He'd dressed to stun in the skimpiest, tightest little pair of jean cut-offs he owned and a form hugging, asymmetrical tee he'd sewed in Alexander Wang grey. Getting ready in his tiny bathroom mirror, Kurt had gelled his hair into the same style he'd worn all those years ago as a junior in high school singing Born This Way with his friends. He'd felt so alive back then and a glimmer of that same spark smirked back at him in the glass when he was finished.

Yes, Kurt looked good and he knew it as he walked up to the bouncer, feeling his body practically sing with excitement. As he forked over 30 dollars of his savings, he even got a smile from the otherwise scowling man in all black. A genuine smile from one of Splash's infamous bouncers! This really was going to be Kurt's night.

Kurt made his way over to the prominent, well-lit bar, his eyes catching on the glittering abs of one of the go-go dancers. The boys of Splash were decked out for the night in monochromatic angel wings in every color of the rainbow and matching boy shorts. As he passed one of the dancing platforms, a blue angel leered his way, running his hands down to his crotch, where Kurt could already see crumpled dollar bills peeking out from his tight underwear. Kurt shook his head and felt himself smile back. The music was adding to his good mood—not obscure Euro techno but danceable, recognizable pop. Gaga's latest blasted through the speakers overhead and informed Kurt's strut as he approached the colorful bar. A beautiful bartender, wearing nothing but a gold jockstrap and body glitter, smiled over at Kurt and he was soon gladly paying the 12 dollars for his teeny Cosmo. This was Pride weekend after all. He could worry about his budget next week. Happy for once, Kurt turned and leaned against the bar with his drink, surveying the pulsing, sexy crowd around him with a small smile.

That was until Kurt's eyes landed on one David Karofsky.

David sat at a VIP bottle service table, flanked by a laughing group of half-naked model types.  
>The man was nearly unrecognizable. He was slimmer, tanner, more tightly built than the Karofsky that Kurt remembered. But there was no mistaking those naturally perfect eyebrows or that little beauty mark on his left cheek. Kurt would know that face anywhere, especially since it had so recently smiled to him from the cover of GQ magazine.<p>

Oh yes, Kurt had heard all about the new and improved David Karofsky before laying eyes on him for the first time in ten years. But then again, who hadn't? Now one of the most eligible gay bachelors in New York and a veritable sweetheart to boot, David was a darling of the media. His sweet, shockingly genuine smile graced every socialite rag circling the city. He was the self-made man from small town Ohio, a fresh face standing out amongst tired celebrity. David had made his millions after designing the latest and greatest thing to come out of social networking. His site combined fast-paced, micro-interactions with the need for greater depth of communication and was used by both Forbes 500 CEOS to hold their businesses together and by clueless preteens to share their every burning thought. David had been hailed as the non-socially awkward equivalent of Mark Zuckerberg and he'd been living the high life ever since. That was if New York Magazine's party lines page was anything to go by.

And boy did David appear every inch the hunky playboy tonight, with the smile that had won America's heart firmly in place. He looked good, almost too good to be true in a custom-tailored suit jacket and tight-fitting shirt that let all of his muscles come out to play. Kurt couldn't look away, trying and failing to see the scared, closeted jock he had known in high school. But that confused boy was nowhere to be found within the solid, confident, and downright sexy man in front of him. Kurt felt himself stirring with desire as he focused on Dave and Dave alone…

Kurt had no way of knowing how long he stood there. The next thing he was aware of was some guy accidentally bumping into his shoulder as he moved to the bar. That little touch was enough to shock Kurt back into self-awareness and suddenly he felt a burn of humiliation.

Here he was, a grown man, staring like some love-sick school girl. And what's worse? The object of his affection was Dave Karofsky, the bane of his existence in high school, the guy who'd bullied him so horribly Kurt had had to _transfer_. Sure, Dave had apologized for everything and had actually been quite nice to Kurt in their final year of school, when Dave had finally accepted himself. But there had been a time when Kurt would tell his bullies that one day they would work for him, one day he'd be on top. He had really believed that with his drive and talent and sheer passion he would be unstoppable in life. The truth that now he was spending Pride alone and quibbling over a $12 drink while his former bully laughed with his gorgeous admirers, treating them to $200 bottles-well, the truth hurt. Kurt felt so inadequate all of a sudden. He could feel the tears start to form in his eyes and he knew he had to get out of there, move away before anyone could see how pathetic he must look. Kurt pushed himself away from the bar and practically ran to find the bathroom.

The "bathroom," as it turned out, was nothing more than a public trough. Yes, a _trough_. It practically encouraged public sex. Sure enough, as Kurt stood looking transfixed at the whore's version of a urinal, two guys walked up, dropped trou (so to speak) and one started giving the other an enthusiastic blow job right then and there, audience be damned. Kurt just blinked and moved around them towards the sink. He needed to splash some water on his face and get rid of all these damn tears. So much for his perfect night.

Kurt threw some water at his now tell-tale red eyes and just held his hands over his face, willing himself to calm down...and more pressingly, unhear the _howls_ coming off of Mr. I'd Like My Sex in the Public Trough, Please. How classy. He took another breath to steady himself and then removed his hands. There, good as new, he thought, staring at his reflection. Yet, his blue eyes weren't the only ones returning his gaze in the mirror. Just behind him were kind looking but currently hesitant light brown eyes: _Dave_.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N- Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed! I'm in awe of how many people have added this little story to their alerts. And I'm sorry it's taken so long to get this next part up. I had some minor surgery done on Thursday that hit my immunity harder than I thought it would. But, now that I've recovered it's time for all of you to meet…Dave Karofsky!

* * *

><p>"—so I told that little circuit queen that if he ever wanted to touch this skin again, an International Male catalogue was the closest he was ever going to get," Jon finished up the saga of his latest ex, smirking proudly.<p>

Dave just shook his head amusedly. "How'd he take that?"

"Ah," Jon shrugged his brawny shoulder delicately, belying the hard-worked for image of picture perfect masculinity, "much as you'd expect." The smile he sent Dave feigned nonchalance, but David knew better. Jon had been struggling in love for quite a while now, ever since they had decided that they were better off as friends and that their drunken Halloween hookup was something best left forgotten. Well, that's not exactly true. David had been the one to make that particular decision. Jon had just put on a happy face and agreed but Dave wasn't stupid. He just couldn't take that risk on their relationship when he didn't think he could fall in love with Jon. After all, the playful model had been Dave's first real friend when he moved out to New York. He was the first one to introduce him to the scene, the first one to really get Dave beyond all of his lingering, post-closet fears and be truly _proud_ to be himself. A best friend like that wasn't something you just gambled away.

Michel and Alan, their group's resident happy couple, leaned in to give their (no doubt scathing) input on the last in a long line of men to be kicked out of Jon's bed. But Dave did not hear whatever it was that they said. A man with gorgeously coifed brown hair and liquid blue eyes was nearly running past their table and suddenly Dave's mind was a million miles away… or more likely 600 miles and 10 years away in good old Lima, Ohio.

An almost panic rose in his chest. Dave tried to tell himself that no, it couldn't be Kurt Hummel. Not here, not now. They'd been living in the same city for almost four years with not one sighting. But there was no mistaking that silhouette, that adorable face (_god_, he hadn't aged a day), those unforgettable eyes. Dave had spent his high school years committing every aspect of Kurt Hummel into his memory. He had watched him on his way to class, followed his back in crowded hallways, searched for his face in the noisy lunchroom…

And just like that, Dave was 18 years old again. It didn't matter that he had made something of himself, that he was surrounded by his supportive, loving friends, that he'd been out and proud for _years _now, or that he had worked hard, spending hours and hours in the gym and running up and down the city like a maniac, so that no one would ever be able to call him chubby again. All of the things that he looked to for his identity now fell away. And Dave was just an awkward, scared boy with an impossible crush. He felt too big for his skin suddenly, as if his shoulders hulked two feet higher than where they rested snugly in his summer weight silk jacket.

Dave stood up without thinking. In the corners of his consciousness, he could hear the silence as Alan and Jon's voices tapered off questioningly. But he didn't know what to say, had no words to explain why he was just up and leaving their table. All Dave knew was that Kurt Hummel had walked back into his life and he had to follow him, or else he'd never get another chance.

Sure, David wasn't the same person he'd been in high school. He'd grown up, moved on for the most part. Hell, he had a string of exes that could rival Jon's. Or well, maybe he did a year ago. There was no telling what number partner Jon was on these days…. Anyway, he was a grown man with a whole past behind him that had nothing to do with Kurt Hummel, and yet…And yet, a part of Dave had always half-consciously wondered 'what if.' What if he ran into Kurt in any one of the gay bars or clubs his friends dragged him to? He would get dressed to go out and a little voice in the back of his mind would almost always pop up and ask, What would Kurt think of him now? What would Kurt see in him? Would Kurt want him now?

Up ahead across the crowded dance floor, Dave saw Kurt slip into the bathroom hallway. He almost stopped in his unthinking prowl and went back to his table, where his friends would no doubt have a few choice words about his sudden departure. How could he just follow Kurt into the bathroom after all these years? How stalkerish was that. He'd just end up reminding Kurt of how crazy he'd been their junior year, after Dave had kissed Kurt and reached his boiling point emotionally. What would he even say to the guy?

But no, Dave had spent too much time in this life _regretting_. He regrets everything he did to Kurt during their high school years. He regrets lashing out so badly that Kurt couldn't even feel safe in his own school, surrounded by his own friends. He regrets never trusting his parents enough (who've been _wonderful _these past few years) to know the real him. He regrets lying to all of his friends in high school, and even those he met in the beginning of college…. He regrets so much he's done wrong in the past.

He would not live to regret tonight.

With newfound determination, Dave pushed through the dancing men and quickly made it to the relatively quiet hallway at the end of which was Splash's infamous trough.

But the hallway wasn't quiet. Though Dave couldn't see down into the bathroom area, he could distinctly hear the moans of two guys having sex. Oral, if that slurping was any indication. Oh god, what if Kurt had ran into here for a quick fuck? Dave couldn't handle walking in on Kurt with some random guy. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening.

Just then the slurping stopped with a muffled, lewd pop and a moaned, "Oh, fuck yes."

Dave unconsciously crept closer a step, hearing the answering: "Yea, just like that. Oh god." And then the slurping restarted once more.

David could have laughed with relief. It might have been a while but he knew without a doubt that neither of those voices belonged to Kurt. He should have known Fancy would never be up for something as sleazy as an anonymous, bathroom hookup.

With a happy sigh of the breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding, Dave walked the remainder of the short hallway and looked into the bathroom. Sure enough, there was Fancy, so prim and proper, with his shoulders squared and his hands covering his eyes as two guys got it on not three feet from him.

But something was wrong. Kurt wasn't just blocking out those guys from his sight. Dave realized with a start that Kurt was shaking slightly. Remembering how wet Kurt's eyes had looked earlier, Dave knew that Kurt was crying.

Dave moved in closer, stepping around the two moaning sluts without even thinking. Whatever it was that was hurting Kurt, he just wished he could make it better. Dave wanted to be the one to stop Kurt's tears. There was nothing more compelling in his mind than the sight of Kurt crying. It used to kill him in high school, when he'd see Kurt upset and know, just _know_, that it was his fault. That he'd put that look there. He'd give anything for a chance to make Kurt smile instead.

Suddenly Kurt's hands dropped away and those eyes, those bluer than blue eyes, were all that Dave could see. He felt pulled into the pain he saw there. Sure, Kurt was no longer crying and his eyes were no longer red but there was no mistaking that look of sadness.

A sadness which quickly turned to surprise.

Dave knew he'd been caught staring. And he had no idea what to say, except for the obvious.

"Are you okay?" His voice sounded hoarse even to him, as if he hadn't spoken in years as opposed to mere minutes.

"I, I'm fine." If he was hoarse, Kurt was startled. He was still not talking to Dave, not facing Dave, but a reflection. Kurt seemed to realize that at the same moment and quickly spun around. Dave could feel Kurt's eyes on him, seemingly sizing him up, and again he felt the return of that hulking sensation, like he was just too big, too awkward and unseemly for Kurt's presence. When in reality the two were practically the same height.

Whatever Kurt saw in his perusal of Dave, it seemed to satisfy him. Kurt shook his head a little bit and with that small move the sadness in his eyes cleared (or hid) away. As quickly as it had come, the hulking sensation left Dave, his shoulders relaxing.

Kurt gave him a little smile and in a quiet, calm voice that seemed so at odds with their current situation—the blasting music still seeping in from the main room, the nonstop moans from directly behind—said, "Hey David. It's been a while." At the end of his sentence, Kurt crinkled his nose into his smile in that little, unconscious gesture Dave had witnessed him make so many times before. But never to him, never directed at Dave. Looking at it now, Dave was in awe. _Adorable_, he thought. _How can a man who's practically 30 be so...cute?_

Realizing belatedly that he should answer, Dave grunted back a "Hey Kurt." The name sounded foreign on his tongue, like a word he had heard others speak and vaguely knew the meaning of but didn't feel fluent enough to use himself.

Probably sensing his awkwardness, Kurt smiled quickly up at him. "You look really good. Amazing, actually." The words were almost shy and for a second the incongruity of Kurt Hummel sounding _shy_ threw Dave off and he almost didn't register the compliment. When he finally did, he was floored and looked down, away from Kurt's still shining eyes. He couldn't believe Kurt of all people was looking at him _like that. _

Dave just shrugged and gave a self-deprecating, muttered "thanks." Then, looking up again, said, "_You_ look just as gorgeous as ever." Kurt smiled, a full faced smile, and his eyes locked happily on Dave's.

The sweet spell of their gaze was broken a second later by the sounds, sight, and _smell _of the bathroom's couple of the moment cumming all over themselves.

Dave glanced quickly behind him, realizing as if for the first time just where they were and how inappropriately timed this reunion was. Turning back to Kurt, he made a face. "We should probably get out of here."

Nodding, Kurt agreed with a pronounced "yea," and followed Dave out of the bathroom turned back-room and into the hallway. They paused at the juncture where the hall became dance floor again, seemingly unsure where to go from here. They could try to move on, go back to where they'd been before this unlikely meeting (Kurt at the bar, looking for someone to celebrate with; Dave at his friends' table, commiserating with Jon) or they could see where this, this undeniable mutual attraction, led.

Unable to stand the silence anymore without doing _something_, something to make Kurt stay with him, if only for a little bit longer, Dave turned to the other man.

"Hey," he opened, trying desperately for casual. "Want to come hang out with me and my friends?"  
>Maybe if Kurt could see David with them he'd see how much he had changed, he'd see how much <em>more <em>David was now than the boy he knew… Dave waited on edge for Kurt's answer, even though it was less than a minute in coming.

"Sure, I'd like that." Kurt said on a smile.

Dave grinned back and he felt light on his feet as he led Kurt into his world.


	4. Chapter 4

Auditioning and clubbing are a lot alike, Kurt muses. It's the same meat market mentality. The same judging eyes, always looking for the next best thing to walk through the door-someone younger, someone fitter, someone else (in Kurt's case at least). For _months_ now, Kurt has been on the receiving end of rejection after rejection-whether from near dehumanizing producers ("Thank you, number 8, we've seen all we need.") to the men at every club or bar he's left alone. So when Dave Karofsky-yes,_ the _Dave Karofsky, y'know the one gracing GQ's cover, April 2022-looks at him with shy, adoring eyes, looks at him like he's something special and tells Kurt-_Kurt!_-that he looks "gorgeous," he doesn't know what to say. He barely knows how to react. Kurt hasn't decently, or successfully, flirted with any guy in almost a year. He's lonely, if he's being honest with himself. And something in Dave's eyes, which flicker over him every so often, tell him he doesn't want to screw up this time.

But Kurt feels out of his element as Dave leads him behind a burgundy velvet rope into the VIP section, a sexy red angel-waiter greeting Dave by name.

Before they can walk up to the table where Kurt had first seen Dave, a beautiful man in his mid to late 20s gets up and approaches them. Kurt's first thought is that he looks like a movie star, like someone born to be photographed, filmed, and paraded around to the rest of the world as the epitome of what is right with the human form. The man is tall, probably not too much taller than Dave, but he walks proud with a straight spine. He's got luscious curly black hair and a sexy bit of scruff outlining his strong jaw.

Kurt watches transfixed as he walks right up to Dave, leaning in with a shared smile and putting a hand on Dave's bicep.

"Hey, where did you run off to?" His tone is playful, almost flirty, but with an underlying current of mild concern. The man flicks his eyes over to Kurt briefly, his gaze obviously questioning. And through this his hand remains on Dave. Familiar.

Great, this must be Dave's boyfriend. He tries to stop his sudden disappointment from writing itself all over his face. Here he thought that David was attracted to him, that he'd invited him back here to...what? To get to know Kurt, to maybe invite him into his world of tall, dark, and handsome men and velvet ropes. Of course he'd be taken. Of course he wouldn't be interested in Kurt, not now that he's become such a loser. ...God, what if Dave had seen Kurt crying? What if that's why he invited Kurt back to "hang out"? (And, really, how could he have read into such a hetero invitation?) Maybe he realized Kurt was alone and he was just taking pity on him.

"I saw someone I know. Jon, this is Kurt; we went to high school together. Kurt, meet my best friend Jon."

The face Jon makes Dave when he says his name is unmistakable. There's recognition in his eyes, a measured, almost fearful recognition. Jon knows about their history; he probably knows all about the bullying from their junior year, about Kurt's failed attempt at bringing some PFLAG tolerance to Lima. _He knows_. That simple realization almost prevents Kurt from hearing the two most important words of Dave's response: best friend.

So maybe he does have a chance after all.

Jon flashes him a full, blindingly white smile and delicately removes his hand from Dave's forearm to offer it to Kurt.

"Nice to meet you Kurt." His deep voice is silky smooth, but his eyes are sharp and shrewd as they run up and down Kurt's body. Jon's face remains friendly enough but Kurt can feel the judgments rolling off of him as if he was screaming "not good enough" for everyone in the club to hear.

Kurt feels himself going into "actor" mode. He tells himself that he's Kurt Hummel, a proud, superior bitch and he doesn't need any man judging him. His back straightens a little more as he reaches to take the offered hand with a clear, "It's a pleasure, I'm sure."

They probably hold hands a bit too long as Kurt does some staring of his own. Jon's wearing a Rag and Bone vest (which Kurt has to admit looks fabulous on him), a barely there tank and nicely pressed black shorts. The shirt is see-through, showing off a proud nipple and an eight-pack of abs that would put most of tonight's go-go boys to shame. Kurt forces his eyes upwards, catching Jon's knowing smirk.

Dave looks uncomfortable beside them, his eyes flicking between Kurt and Jon.

"Why don't we go back to the table so Kurt can meet the rest of the crew?"

Jon disengages from Kurt and turns his smile on Dave. "Sure sweetie. Lead the way."

* * *

><p>The rest of the crew turns out to be a handsome couple in their early 30s. They were leaning into each other and cuddling as David, Jon, and Kurt approached the table, completely lost in each other. Meeting Jon had put Kurt on edge but seeing such an obviously happy couple eased his tension once more. Kurt always thought there was nothing more beautiful than two people in love.<p>

Dave introduces them as Alan and Michel, "the old married couple," while simultaneously motioning for Jon to take a seat. The gesture is not lost on Kurt. Dave clearly wants to separate him and Jon.

Michel laughs and reaches across the table to greet Kurt, his "nice to meet you" sounding a hell of a lot more genuine than Jon's.

Kurt's curiosity gets the better of him as he takes the open seat near Dave and he asks, "Are you two really married?"

Sure, it's been legal in New York for over ten years now but Kurt doesn't actually _know_ any married gay men. He's met the odd lesbian wives though.

It's Alan who responds, his sweet smile as much an answer as his words. "Going on five years now."

They chat for a little while longer. Kurt learns that Alan's an attorney and that Michel is a furniture designer. ("You should see their apartment," Dave says conspiratorially.) When they ask, he tells them that he's actor, but between plays right now. He represses a cringe when he says it because, really, that line couldn't be more obvious if he had "UNEMPLOYED" stamped across his forehead in red ink. But they don't make a big deal about it. Alan just asks him about past productions he's done.

Dave chimes in with, "Kurt was always an amazing singer in high school." Kurt looks up at him, surprised. He didn't know Dave had ever heard him sing. Dave just shrugs at the question in his eyes.

"I caught a couple of your Glee performances with Santana." To the rest of the group, he elaborates: "My beard."

Jon chuckles at that. "The lipstick lesbian, right? With the anger streak?"

Dave nods on a laugh that Kurt can't help but answer with his own. "Yep, that'd be Santana alright."

Alan seems intrigued about Glee ("You know, I was a Whiffenpoof at Yale.") and so Kurt regales them with some of his glory stories from Nationals. He feels comfortable talking with the guys, and for a second he almost forgets that this isn't his life, that these are strangers and that he's sitting at a table he could never afford.

Then, Dave starts looking around him as if he's lost something. And Kurt fears that he's overstayed his welcome. Maybe he's been talking too much. Maybe all of his reliving high school has reminded Dave that they don't belong together…

But Dave voices what's wrong soon enough. "Hey, has anyone seen Eric?"

Michel smiles like he's hiding something. "Oh, I have a feeling he'll be back soon."

Jon perks up at that, straightening in his seat like a dog on a hunt. "He didn't," he says, his voice dripping with scandal.

Michel's smile just widens as Alan shakes his head next to him. "Oh, he did."

Kurt is confused and not a little bit intrigued. He almost asks but he doesn't have to wait long before the answer arrives in the form of Eric himself.

Kurt's never seen a gay guy look so much like a, well, like a _bro_. If Jon screams effortless chic, this guy—from his clothes to his walk—screams "former frat boy."

Kurt watches as he approaches the table, wearing a huge smile and showing off a little scrap of paper like it's the Hope Diamond. He's got on a simple black wife beater showing off his well-worked chest and tight, almost painted on dark jeans which hug his tree trunk legs. His dark blonde hair is casually tousled and if it wasn't for the garish backwards cap sitting on his head, he could pass for an Abercrombie and Fitch model.

Eric stops right next to the table and pulls the little bit of paper open so everyone seated can see the clearly written digits. The look of absolute shock on everyone's faces tells Kurt that this was not the outcome they had envisioned for whatever it was that Eric had done.

Jon is the first to recover and speak up. "There is no way—"

"Oh, it's the real deal. A phone number and a date tomorrow night with none other than the green angel." He tosses the paper over to Jon who scrambles to grab it. "Go on and read it. I already have the number in my phone."

"But—" Jon cuts himself off and tries to regroup. "He even turned me down." This comes out quieter, like he didn't mean to say it.

"Guess he doesn't like his men fat." Eric says flippantly, clearly amused.

Kurt can't help it; he laughs. The idea of Jon being fat is just so absurd. His giggling turns Eric's attention on him for the first time.

"Well, who do we have here?"

Dave clears his throat, "This is Kurt—"

Jon cuts him off. "Dave and him and went to high school together." His tone clearly says "isn't that cute?"

Eric smiles wide as if Christmas just came early and plops himself down on the other side of Kurt. "Well, anyone who knew Saint Dave here during his hormonal teen years is a friend of mine."

Then something happens that Kurt has never experienced in all of his 28 years. Eric fist bumps him. Kurt looks around quickly just to double check that he is, in fact, still in a gay club.

Some of what he's thinking no doubt shows up on his face because the next thing he knows Eric and Dave are bursting out in laughter.

"I don't think Fancy here appreciates fist bumping."

"Suit yourself," Eric shrugs. He's clearly not done with his moment in the spotlight, so he turns to Jon, poking at the piece of paper. "So? Authenticated that shit yet?" There's a smirk in his voice.

Jon just shakes his head. "I thought for sure he was straight, but I guess anything's possible."

Another hearty laugh breaks free from Eric. "Oh, he's gay alright. Look at the name: Marc. With a C. How gay is that."

He leans forward conversationally, "So I think this is where you pay up, Johnny Boy."

Jon breaths out a long-suffering sigh but he's clearly smiling. "What you want?"

Eric pauses as if considering, but most likely trying to drag out this moment as long as possible. He turns to Kurt. "Well, what would you like Kurt? I'll let you choose since you're the new boy."

Kurt looks back at him, confused. "Damn, where are my manners? I'm Eric."

As if Kurt hadn't figured out that part yet. "That's Eric with a c, right?" He says sarcastically.

Eric laughs uproariously at that. "Yea. I deserve that. Anyway, my boy Jon here bet me that I couldn't get the digits to the gorgeous green angel over there. Now that I've proven his prissy ass wrong, he owes me a bottle of any liquor I want. So, Kurt, what do you like to drink?"

Kurt finds himself warming up to Eric. Bro that he is, he's got a pretty infectious happiness so Kurt grins back. "Vodka, I suppose."

"Vodka it is." Eric turns his grin to Jon, expectantly. Jon doesn't answer verbally but he signals for the closest Splash angel (this one clothed in all purple), to come over to their table. When the guy walks over, Jon orders a bottle of Grey Goose for the table and instructs him to put it on his tab.

Once again, Kurt is reminded just how out of his league this whole night is. Sure, a bottle of Goose only goes for about 40 dollars in a liquor store, but here that same bottle could set Jon back almost 400 dollars. And he orders it with barely a blink.

Kurt wonders suddenly how all of these men know each other. Sure, Dave's website is really successful and he definitely has the money to live the high life. But the four men around him just all seem so different. Alan's an Ivy League lawyer. Michel's a designer. Jon looks like his job in life is to be professionally beautiful. And then there's Eric, who by all appearances seems more like the kind of guy to guzzle down cheap beers than to ask for hundreds of dollars worth of vodka.

Without thinking, Kurt voices his question aloud. "So, how do you guys all know each other?"

Eric's the one that answers, on a shrug. "We're in the same football league."

Dave chuckles quietly. "I wouldn't call it a _league_, it's more like a group of guys who meet for pick-up games now and then. We don't even have teams."

Eric nods. "Yea, it's very gay actually."

Kurt's eyebrows quirk up at that. "How you do mean?" He sounds prim and annoyed, but Kurt's become very sensitive over the years to guys who toss around the word gay.

Eric doesn't seem to pick up on his mood. "Well, we all play on the same team, you know?"

Kurt looks blankly back at Dave so he fills him in. "Everyone that plays is gay," he says matter-of-factly.

"Yea, it's just like high school football. Except you never have to be worried some guy's gonna catch you checking out their junk cuz, y'know, everyone is." Eric explains.

Alan laughs at that. "Speak for yourself."

Kurt turns to Jon, "Do you play as well?"

The other guys break out into laughter. Jon just looks affronted. "Are you kidding? Have you ever seen a football game? All that tackling and pushing and total disregard for personal safety?"

Kurt smiles understandingly. "Well, I was kicker on our high school team for a time."

Dave mutters, "A very short time."

Jon continues as if uninterrupted. "Well anyway, no. I do not play football. I need this face to work."

Eric chimes in helpfully, "Yea, Johnny Boy here's a hustler."

Jon's scowl only makes Eric's shit-eating grin widen. "I model." He says stiffly but with an undercurrent of amusement.

That piques Kurt's interest, though he's not very surprised. "What do you model?"

Jon looks pleased to be the center of attention for the moment. "Oh, all kinds of things. I did the high fashion route for a while—you know, traveling and walking for fashion weeks. But now what I really like to shoot is more commercial: underwear, swimsuits—

"Nudes," Eric cuts him off.

Jon looks over at Eric with a mock glare and primly confirms, "Yes, nudes as well." Then his expression morphs into a devilish smirk. "But really honey, when you look this good, why bother covering up with all that unnecessary fabric?"

Well, that explains the mostly invisible shirt, Kurt thinks.

* * *

><p>Dave is in agony. He invited Kurt over here so that he could get to know him and so far his friends have completed hijacked his attention the entire time. First, there was that way too long handshake between Kurt and Jon. You could have cut through the sexual tension between them with a knife. And now Kurt is laughing, hanging onto every one of Eric's barbs. This was a bad idea. Dave should have known that Kurt would never look twice at him once he met his beautiful friends. I mean, this is the guy who for most of his out-life in high school dated a guy who probably spent more time on his gelled hair and beauty routines than on showing Kurt affection. (Not that Dave would ever admit to watching them together.) Point is, Kurt likes his men <em>pretty<em>. There's no way he would never want someone like Dave.

* * *

><p>Kurt is enjoying meeting all of Dave's friends. Between shots of Goose, he's shocked to learn that, despite all appearances otherwise, Eric is a huge nerd. The 27-year-old's a grad student at NYU in the Physics department. He leans in conspiratorially and tells Kurt that he and Dave like to geek out over math and science. Dave admits that he was a computer science major in school, with a physics minor "just for fun." Kurt finds David's reluctant nerdiness incredibly cute. But other than that admission, Dave's been almost silent for a while. Kurt begins to feel restless. He's only here for Dave after all. Dave, with his beautiful face and perfect eyebrows. Dave, with the strong, thick profile that has been stirring Kurt's desires all night. Dave, who's usual smile has been replaced by a disappointed half-frown for the past few minutes.<p>

Kurt knows he needs to get Dave on his own. So he leans into the other man and with an invitation clearly only meant for one says, "Let's go dance."

Dave looks happily surprised. His eyes light up as he whispers back, "Okay."

* * *

><p>Dave likes dancing. Hell, in the right mood, he loves it. But, if he's being honest with himself, his dancing <em>technique<em> hasn't really improved much, or changed at all, since his junior prom. He almost considers making some excuse as he follows Kurt out to the dance floor. But then a voice in his head screams that Kurt's picked him—him!—to dance and so he's going to just throw himself into it, awkward moves and all.

The second they get out onto the dance floor, Dave's got his hands in the air, waving around like he just doesn't care. Kurt looks over and smiles wide, and starts dancing as well.

Dave's breath catches in his throat. Kurt is simply _beautiful _when he dances, all elegant moves. He closes his eyes against the glare of the club's lights and starts really getting into the music. He throws his head back and Dave is amazed by how sexy he finds the curve of Kurt's neck. Instinctually, Dave moves closer. His hands reach out on their own to clasp lightly around Kurt's waist.

Kurt gasps quietly and his eyes pop open. But when he sees Dave above him, he relaxes back into the embrace and continues on dancing. Dave tries to match his moves. He knows he's not nearly as smooth as Kurt but at that moment he doesn't care. Kurt Hummel is in his arms and Dave can't remember the last time he was so happy.

Kurt turns in his embrace to dance facing him. Their movements become more in synch, bodies rubbing against each other deliciously. Kurt's had quite a few drinks; Dave watched him knocking back shots with Jon and Eric. But his eyes are shockingly clear as he pushes upwards and, after a slight hesitation, kisses Dave.

Dave opens his mouth, shocked. But then he can't really think enough to be properly shocked that _Kurt Hummel is kissing him_ because suddenly there's a hot tongue pushing into his mouth and Dave's world narrows to sucking on that tongue and pulling Kurt closer to him.

Eventually, they pull apart, Kurt nuzzling at Dave's neck. He notes absently that at some point the song has changed. None of that matters though. Because Dave can feel an unmistakable boner pushing at him from inside the confines of Kurt's short shorts. There's a ready and thoroughly willing Kurt Hummel in his arms.

He knows he can't ask yet, because it's too soon, too presumptuous, and just downright too slutty. So Dave calms himself down, finishes a couple more dances with Kurt and then walks him back to the table. They talk with his friends some more, and Dave can't help but feel happy and excited all over feeling how close Kurt is sitting next to him and knowing that he could lean over and kiss the other man at any moment. But when the night starts getting late and Alan and Michel start to make excuses and Jon's busy flirting with the red angel from earlier, he can't help but ask.

"Wanna go back to mine?" He's both fearful and hopeful of Kurt's answer.

Kurt looks up at him and pulls a Holly Holiday with an impish grin: "I thought you'd never ask."


	5. Chapter 5

Stepping out of the club and onto the street, Kurt felt happily dazed. He had gone into Splash wanting to celebrate this Pride like it would be his last, and he was leaving arm-in-arm with a beautiful, successful man who couldn't keep his eyes off of him. Yes, Kurt could get used to this.

He followed Dave to the end of the block, but the other man stopped just as they approached Sixth Avenue. A row of taxis, one in each lane, stood poised at the corner ready for the nod of approval from a green light to speed up the street. Dave stared at their loud yellow hoods.

"Do you want to take a taxi back?" He asked.

"Is it really that far?" Kurt never took taxis; they were far too expensive, especially when you could get most anywhere in the city by subway or on foot.

"No, it's only a couple blocks from here... I, uh, I live in Chelsea." Dave said that part with an almost sheepish smile. He sounded like someone who had accidentally stumbled on a double entendre and was waiting for a horrible pun to be made at their expense. Kurt didn't understand why. Chelsea was a beautiful neighborhood. He'd live there too if he could afford it. Then again, he'd live anywhere in Manhattan (barring, maybe, Spanish Harlem) if he could only afford to.

Then, Kurt had a flash of understanding. Chelsea was, after all, the gay barrio. The New York neighborhood with the highest gay population, surpassing even the Village. And known for having more than its fair share of bears. He guessed Dave didn't want to be seen as the cliché- a gay muscle bear living it up in Chelsea. But, from what Kurt knew of Dave's past and from what he had seen that night of who Dave had become, Kurt didn't think he was a cliché at all. How many bullying, closeted jocks end up living well-adjusted out and proud lives?

Kurt knew very well just how stifling stereotypes could be. Hell, for most people looking in on his life, Kurt could seem like the ultimate cliché. The prissy, somewhat effeminate gay boy who worshiped good fashion and high end designers. The perpetually "aspiring" actor forced to take on a position in the food service industry. Hell, even his tiny walk-up in Williamsburg screamed "over done storyline." But Kurt was an original, despite all those things that made him fit into a type. He was absolutely himself, whatever that might mean.

He had no idea how to share that with Dave, no idea how to tell him that Kurt thought he was special and not just some other rich bear from Chelsea. There's no real way to put that into words when that line of conversation hasn't been fully opened.

So Kurt just smiled up at Dave, tugged his hand a little closer, and said: "No, let's walk. It's such a nice night, isn't it?"

* * *

><p>Dave didn't normally ask guys back to his place. Okay, he would <em>never<em> ask some guy he had just met to go home with him. It felt cheap, slutty. But Kurt Hummel wasn't just any guy. He was everything Dave had wanted as a teenager, his ultimate fantasy. The one thing that, even when he had all of the success of his website and the joy of making it in New York City, Kurt was always the one thing he never thought he would have a chance to have. And he was scared, so very scared, that if he just let Kurt go with an exchanging of phone numbers and a vague promise to meet up sometime soon, that he would never see him again. That this second chance, this unbelievable second chance, would all be a waste.

Dave might not normally do something like this, but he had to admit that it felt amazing to walk down the street, Kurt holding his hand like it was the most normal thing in the world. Like they were _together_.

Dave felt his back straighten with pride and he held Kurt's hand a little tighter as he walked them into the lobby of his building.

* * *

><p>Kurt had known that Dave was rich in the same way that he vaguely knew that Angelina Jolie was rich. Sure, he had read all about Dave contributing a couple million to the Trevor Project in OUT's feature. But he still felt unprepared walking into the gleaming, marble lobby with the bright, smartly dressed concierge and priceless installation art. There was a difference between reading about someone being worth untold millions in some magazine article and being confronted by that wealth face to face.<p>

An instant passed in which Kurt wanted nothing more but to hide. Here he was in some fake Alexander Wang shirt and suddenly too short for public shorts. He didn't belong in this beautiful foyer with its classy crystal chandeliers and tasteful yet warm furniture. But there could be no hiding. Not when Dave was holding his hand so firmly in his own and walking, his gait so strong and sure, towards the elevators, stopping only to exchange a friendly nod and "good night" with the concierge.

When they got into the elevator, Dave dropped Kurt's hand to press the button for the 24th floor—the building's top floor. Kurt felt his eyes widen a bit at that.

His body was a pulsing bundle of nerves the entire, excruciatingly long, ride to the top. As the slow car moved from floor 11 to floor 12, Kurt decided he just couldn't take the anticipation anymore. So he turned very deliberately to Dave, fingering his lapel and leaning in with a small smile that he hoped glossed over his nervousness. When met with Dave's happy grin, Kurt whispered, "Thanks. For inviting me back." He looked down with a slightly self-deprecating half-smile and said to Dave's chest, "I don't think I noticed anybody else in that club after I saw you."

He didn't need to look up to see Dave's smile because the next thing Kurt knew Dave was tilting up his face with thick, strong hands and pressing his huge grin right to Kurt's lips.

Dave kissed with passion, as if he needed to touch Kurt to survive.

The feel of those hands on his face, Dave's lips on his own, brought Kurt back in time to another kiss—a scared, angry kiss in a dirty locker room. He pulled back at the memory. Yet, looking into Dave's eyes, so close and beautifully brown, Kurt knew that he couldn't be scared of the other man. Not now, not anymore. Dave had changed, in all the ways that mattered. And so this time it was Kurt that leaned in for a second taste.

* * *

><p>By the time the elevator politely dinged their arrival on the 24th floor, Kurt had Dave's bottom lip delicately caught between his own. They broke apart as the doors opened, a bubble of nervous laughter floating between them.<p>

Kurt pulled away from Dave's embrace, a big smile playing over his lips, and stepped into the hallway. The very short hallway. With only one door at its center. _Ohmygod, Dave lives in the penthouse suite!_

Dave didn't notice his shock though because he had already stepped around Kurt and was putting his key into the lock. When the door was opened and Dave had stepped inside to turn on the light, ushering Kurt to follow, Kurt had a wild, stray thought that he was entering the adult equivalent of Willy Wonka's chocolate factory. In his mind, Gene Wilder's voice crooned: "If you want to view paradise, Simply look around and view it."

There was no better word to describe Dave's apartment than _paradise_. Oversized, floor to ceiling windows framed a dead-on view of Manhattan's iconic midtown skyline, the Empire State and Chrysler buildings standing poised and proud. The décor, from what Kurt could initially see, was done to perfection—a touch of the modern mixed in with classic elegance. In the center of the huge living room was the base of a sexily curved staircase, leading upwards to what clearly was a second floor and roof garden terrace.

Kurt looked all around him, trying to soak in every detail and commit this heaven to memory.

He wasn't even aware of Dave coming to stand next to him until the other man said, in a wry sort of voice, "I take it you like the place."

Kurt had to force his mouth shut to keep from salivating on the hard-wood floors. Of course, he liked the place. You'd have to be blind not to.

All he said though was, "It's beautiful." Yet, even so he couldn't keep out the awe from his tone. Kurt reached out and lightly fingered a nearby table lamp, whose vibrant coloring perfectly brought out the flecks of red in the huge painting taking up the south wall. "Did you decorate yourself?" Kurt never would have thought the other man capable of such superb interior design, but at that moment Kurt was quite sure this new Dave could do almost anything.

Dave just laughed a full-hearted laugh and shook his head. "Nah, Jon did it."

"You should have seen this place before. When he first came here, I had this awesome Rangers poster signed by all the guys on the team. Right on this wall like the piece of art it was." Dave gestured to where the painting now stood. It was a messy scene, lots of sprays of color with what Kurt could make out as a bright yellow sun in the center and a red lined ship thrashing around on the sea. The rest of the picture, however, was a blurry mystery.

Dave chuckled. "Jon takes one look at it and he's like, 'Sweetie, just because you're gay doesn't mean you have taste.'" His voice went slightly higher pitched and was affected into the perfect parody of Jon. Kurt found himself chuckling as well, though he could well understand how a _hockey _poster had no place in this gorgeous apartment. He almost shuddered at the thought.

"Made me get this instead. _It's a Turner_." Kurt had to laugh at the way Dave said it—like that name's _supposed_ to mean something but clearly doesn't for him. (Kurt would never admit that the name means nothing to him too.)

* * *

><p>Dave had never seen anything as beautiful as Kurt laughing, up close and directed at him, <em>caused <em>by him. He knew he was staring but he just couldn't help it. Not when Kurt was smiling with those soft, full lips, his eyes bright and happy. Happy here, _with Dave_.

He barely registered crossing over to Kurt before he had the other man's face in his hands once more and he was leaning in to taste that infectious laugh. One hand caressed Kurt's cheek while the other traveled upwards. Kurt's perfectly coiffed hair was surprisingly soft beneath his fingers. For the second time that night, Kurt's wicked tongue entered Dave's mouth. Both men lost track of time after that.

Eventually Dave pulled away, his breathing coming out in short gasps of air. He looked into Kurt's eyes, silently asking for a permission freely given by Kurt's own hungry stare. Satisfied, Dave took Kurt's hand, pulling him in for a quick peck, before leading him back to his bedroom.

* * *

><p>Kurt barely had the time to appreciate the sleek lines of Dave's bed before he was gently nudged backwards onto the earthy toned spread. He grinned up as Dave got on top of him, resuming their heavy make-out session from before. Their bodies were so much closer then, as they writhed against one another horizontally. But the sexy friction was Just. Not. Enough. Dave was holding back, bracing his weight against his arms in a prolonged push-up and not making nearly enough contact for Kurt's liking.<p>

Realizing the problem, Kurt knocked against Dave's brawny forearms, destroying his balance. The other man laughed as he collapsed fully on top of Kurt. But Kurt just got right back into kissing him, stopping only now and then to suck on Dave's delicious jaw and neck.

* * *

><p>Dave could never get over how wonderful it felt to have Kurt in his arms. Pushing Kurt back onto his bed and seeing him just smile up at Dave as if they had done this every night, it was almost too much. And as Dave leaned down for another miraculous kiss, feeling Kurt's sexy lithe body underneath his own, he knew with absolute certainty that one night would never be enough.<p>

* * *

><p>After some minutes like that, Kurt pushed Dave up a bit to slip off his jacket. And boy did those arms look better than he had imagined they would. Thick and muscled and so sexily defined. Kurt definitely wanted those arms around his body. Needing to see the rest of Dave, Kurt leaned in and slid his hands under the thin material of Dave's tee, slowly running his fingers up the well-defined chest and simultaneously removing the unnecessary clothing.<p>

Kurt had to stop and admire all the delicious skin now exposed for his perusal. Dave was hot; there were no two ways about that. He may not have been built like a bodybuilder (or even like Jon with his ridiculously unnatural eight-pack). But Dave was built powerfully, like a man who grown his muscles by using them not by trying for some beauty ideal. Yes, he was all man. And Kurt couldn't stop running his hands over the soft, light fur covering Dave's abs.

He moved his hands lower, dipping them to graze over Dave's still clothed thighs and his obviously straining erection. Kurt barely registered Dave's hands exploring his own body and removing his shirt. The next thing he was fully aware of was being underneath Dave once again and having those wonderful hands rubbing him in all the right places. Kurt was in ecstasy, gasping and moaning into Dave's neck, biting at the skin and leaving sloppy, open-mouthed kisses.

At some point Dave's fingers stilled, pausing at the fly of Kurt's jeans. Dave looked at him almost shyly, clearly asking for permission. Kurt could have laughed at the incongruity of the moment. Well, he could have laughed if he wasn't so desperate for Dave to take those damn shorts off already. Not trusting himself to speak at that moment without sounding bitchy (or, more likely, needy), Kurt took the decision into his own hands (literally) and unbuttoned his fly, pulling the zipper down just barely an inch.

* * *

><p>Dave gasped in a breath. Every inch of Kurt's skin exposed was a wonder. His eyes fed hungrily on the sight of the other man's creamy white, hairless chest. As Kurt arched upwards to lick Dave's neck, his flat stomach seemed to dip into a concave curve. <em>So beautiful.<em> Dave skimmed his fingers over the flesh, amazed.

His mind kept circling over and over one simple sentence: Kurt Hummel was in his bed. An eager Kurt Hummel was in his bed. _Dave's_ bed. The most private part of his life. He couldn't believe his luck.

Dave pulled _Kurt Hummel_ in for another happily sloppy kiss and wondered just how many times they would have to do this before Hummel became just Kurt in his mind. Because they would definitely be doing this again, if Dave had any say in the matter. There was no way he was letting Kurt Hummel out of his life now that he had him.

He felt a huge surge of lust and pushed Kurt backwards onto the bed, covering his body with licks and nips. His tongue explored the full expanse of Kurt's chest, pausing to chew on a nipple now and then. But he couldn't be parted from Kurt's glorious mouth for too long. He licked his way back up all of that beautiful, beautiful skin, stopping at the other man's full lips, and let his hands take up the job of exploring Kurt. And what a heavenly job that was. Dave couldn't get enough of that impossibly soft skin. _Like dating a baby,_ his mind supplied, remembering what Brittany had told him after the first and only time he had made out with a girl. She had been trying to cross him off some weird 'boys at McKinley I haven't kissed' list and he had just wanted some dirt on what it was like to touch Kurt. Thankfully, Brittany hadn't found his questions odd; apparently Kurt had also wanted to know what kissing guys was like. Well, the girl might have been a bit slow at times but she was dead on in her description of Kurt. He was baby-soft. As if he had never been hurt by the world, never worn out or broken. He seemed so fresh and new, his skin endlessly clear and pure. He felt like a precious newborn you just wanted to cuddle close and keep safe, keep perfect forever.

Dave nuzzled Kurt's sexily mussed hair and began pressing soft kisses all over his face. His hands traveled lower, caressing absentmindedly. He was barely aware of touching Kurt _there _until the smaller man began moaning desperately. Dave looked down and gave an experimental squeeze. Kurt gasped and pushed himself up to bite into Dave's neck. Less hesitant, Dave's hands rubbed roughly against the considerable bulge pushing out Kurt's teasingly tiny shorts.

Dave looked questioningly up at Kurt, wanting so badly to take off those little jeans but not knowing if he could, if he was allowed. Yet, he didn't even get to ask before Kurt was reaching down and doing it for him. He watched as if in slow motion as Kurt's long fingers moved down and nimbly unbuttoned the fly. The tight denim parted and, as Kurt pushed the zipper down one teasing, glorious inch, Dave saw the first curls of pubic hair. And the unmistakable root of Kurt's cock.

_Kurt wasn't wearing any underwear. _

Dave stared dumbly at the tiny bit of revealed skin poking through the zipper. His breathing came out heavy and slow. He'd never been so turned on.

"You're not wearing any underwear?" He croaked out the unnecessary question, his voice filled with an awed sort of hunger.

Kurt just laughed his magical, musical laugh. "In these shorts? Where would I fit them?"

Dave couldn't hold himself back anymore. He ripped the zipper down the rest of the way, completely exposing Kurt. His penis was surprisingly big for his slight frame. But then again, Dave distinctly remembered seeing a decently sized bulge whenever Kurt wore ultra-tight pants to school.

Dave had only ever had one thought when he would catch sight of that promising bulge, just one desire. He had always wanted Kurt in his mouth. And now he could do just that.

Dave moved down Kurt's body, impatiently pushing off those teeny jeans and reaching out for Kurt's cock. He brought himself eye-level with the tip. _Damn, even Kurt's cock was beautiful_. A bit on the thin side but with a nice thick mushroom head—the perfect kind for sucking. His tongue darted out, tasting around the head. But the move was teasing Dave just as much as it was Kurt. So Dave sucked as much of the velvety hard flesh into his mouth as his gag reflex would allow.

He was in heaven, lost in the delicious smell, feel, and _taste _of KURT HUMMEL in his mouth. His curious fingers moved of their own accord, teasing Kurt's scrotum, rubbing against his sensitive perineum, and dipping lower to skim across Kurt's hole…

* * *

><p>Feeling Dave's fingers reach backwards, Kurt couldn't help but tense up. He just hadn't had a guy in so long. It had been well over a year since any man had touched him and even that was just some casual, almost utilitarian, exchange of oral.<p>

Kurt regretted his reaction instantly because the second he froze Dave moved his hand away as if stricken. And he stopped giving Kurt the most enthusiastic blow-job he had ever received. Kurt quickly tried to reassure the other man. "No, it's okay."

Dave smiled up at him but his eyes showed clear hesitation. "It's fine, Kurt. We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

He was being such a gentleman. But the truth was Kurt did want. He had wanted Dave ever since he first caught a glimpse of him sitting amongst his friends. He wanted this. Reaching out, Kurt took Dave's hand and guided it back to his ass. He spoke quietly, his voice tinted by barely concealed embarrassment as he admitted, "I want to. I just…I haven't done this in a while. So just be gentle, okay?"

Dave caught his eyes and nodded with as much seriousness as if he'd just been asked to personally protect the President of the United States. "Of course."

* * *

><p>Dave knew he wanted to go further with Kurt. Hell, that ass had played heavily into most all of his teenage fantasies. But, he also knew that he would never rush into anything, not if Kurt needed him to be slow and gentle. So even though he'd been given pretty explicit permission, he brought his hands back to rest on Kurt's thighs and set out to relax the still somewhat tense man.<p>

He slipped Kurt's cock back into his mouth, trying to take a bit more of it than he had before. Increasing the suction, Dave simultaneously worked the head with his tongue. The change in Kurt's body was immediate. He slipped further back onto the bed and dropped his head back, moaning and sighing in pleasure.

It wasn't long after that that Dave was got his first real taste of Kurt Hummel.

Kurt collapsed bonelessly against the mattress with a happy sigh. Dave scooted up to lay by his side, still achingly hard. But he barely thought of his own need for release. Dave's mind was busy collecting every new thing he was learning about Kurt: Kurt doesn't talk much during sex. Kurt doesn't scream when he orgasms; he sighs as if finally calm. Kurt likes kissing. A lot. Kurt—

But then, there was Kurt, lying on top of him with a devilish little grin.

"I think it's my turn now."

Some minutes later, Dave was gifted with the most erotic thing he had ever witnessed in his life—_Kurt Hummel's_ beautifully wide mouth stretched around him with his cock buried in his throat all the way to the hilt. Kurt had swallowed a few times and the amazingly tight and wet sensation almost brought Dave over the edge. Almost. Because what did eventually get him ejaculating down into his teenage dream's stomach was not the deep-throating. No, that was not enough. It was the sight of Kurt opening with mouth just that little bit wider and taking in Dave's balls. Never, never in his life had he experienced anything like that. And the fact that it was with Kurt nearly destroyed him. Dave came with the hardest, most intense orgasm of his life. Even if he had wanted to try more with Kurt, there was no way he'd be up for anything else after that.

Kurt pulled off of him, a thin string of cum leaking out of the side of his mouth and, once again, Dave was struck by just how lovely he was. He reached down and pulled Kurt to him, kissing away the mess he had made of his beautiful, beautiful face. After some time of slow, soft kisses, Dave cuddled the other man against his chest where Kurt soon fell asleep. Before he closed his own eyes and gave in to his exhaustion, Dave whispered into Kurt's hair, "Thank you, Thank you, Thank you…" He said the quiet words over and over, like a chanted prayer.

What he really meant was: "Stay."


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Happy Halloween! I am so sorry that it's taken me simply forever to post this chapter! I know some explaining is in order. About three days after I posted the last chapter, I boarded a plane and moved from NYC to Prague, Czech Republic for study abroad. I was incredibly naïve and figured I'd have the next part bumped out in no time. But with balancing class, homework, internships, traveling every other weekend, and, of course, partying, that didn't happen. I really have been trying to find the time to write. Thank you so much to everyone that's read and reviewed. I see how many people haven't forgotten this little story and keep checking back for updates, and I really appreciate the support!

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><p>Kurt was surrounded by warmth, his mind sleepy in a post-drinking haze. He was comfortable and wanted to stay that way. Even as he slowly moved back into consciousness, he stubbornly kept his eyes closed. Kurt just curled his body into that wonderful heat….<p>

And realized the source of that warmth was moving, rhythmically. _ Breathing_. And that he felt surrounded by its heat because he was physically encircled by two large, thickly muscled arms.

_Dave_.

The events of the night before resurfaced sluggishly. Kurt supposed that he had had a few too many shots with the guys.

Huh. And isn't it funny how Eric and the rest of them had already become "the guys" in his mind.

It was a jolt to his system to remember that "the guys" he had been with weren't actually _his _friends. This impossibly soft yet still quite firm bed wasn't_ his_ to sleep in. And the arms currently holding him close as if they'd never let him go would soon have to do just that.

Dave—and perhaps more importantly, Dave's seductive lifestyle with the fabulous friends, the unrivaled split-floor penthouse and the sexy man who had made Kurt feel more wanted and more worshiped with a single blow job than any of Kurt's past boyfriends put together—was not Kurt's to keep.

He might not have been so familiar with this one-night stand thing but even Kurt knew he'd have to soon leave this fantasy behind.

* * *

><p>Dave woke up much as he had gone to sleep—with a satisfied smile plastered over his face and a naked Kurt Hummel nestled into his chest. Life was good.<p>

Dave opened his eyes all at once, used to waking himself up early, and fed on the sight of Kurt in his arms. The other man was just so peaceful and precious in his sleep. With his soft, tousled hair, his pale, slightly red-cheeked face relaxed and child-like—Kurt was simply adorable, a porcelain angel for Dave to hold close and protect. He breathed in Kurt's scent and let Kurt's body settle as a comfortable, warm weight against his own. Solid. There.

Dave brushed his right thumb lightly along Kurt's arm—all impossibly soft skin and downy hairs. But otherwise he didn't dare move. Dave was so scared that if he did, if he woke Kurt up, this peaceful moment, this fantasy come true, would just disappear. And he'd suddenly have to face the terrifying "morning after." He couldn't bear to have Kurt reject him. Or worse, write him off as just some drunken mistake. Not when he had Kurt in his arms. Not when he could already imagine all his mornings starting just like this.

Eventually, though, Kurt had to wake up, as Dave knew he would. He could feel the other man stirring—his back becoming a little bit tenser, his facial expression morphing ever so slightly—long before he ever opened his eyes. Dave knew his time with Kurt in his bed was truly limited now but he just kept on holding his body still, his arms clutching softly at that warm flesh above him, keeping Kurt close just a little while longer.

Kurt slowly opened his eyes and Dave could feel his hesitation. He didn't want this to be awkward. He didn't know what to say so that it wouldn't be, so that they could go back to where they were last night. Dave just smiled down at Kurt and hoped it was enough.

Kurt smiled back, turning his face up just the barest inch off of Dave's chest to mumble a sleep-heavy, "G'morning."

That was a good sign, right? Kurt wasn't running away. He wasn't telling Dave that this was all just some mistake. Dave decided to just stop worrying and to take the smile he was offered. "Morning. Sleep okay?"

Kurt nodded his head slowly, the tip of his chin grazing Dave's chest hairs. "Yes. I had a very warm comforter." He said with a somewhat crooked little grin.

On instinct, Dave leaned over to kiss him. He barely managed to brush his lips against Kurt's before the other man was abruptly pulling away, his eyes suddenly wide with what looked to Dave like fear. He felt immediately crushed. Of course, Kurt wouldn't want him or want him to touch him now. The night before was just a drunken encounter, just some letting off of steam and—

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><p>"Sorry. Morning breath."<p>

Kurt winced. He was more than a little embarrassed by that admission. His mouth felt cottony and coarse, like it would never be clean again. How unsexy was that. Nothing like waking up to someone whose mouth smelled like disease. But, embarrassed or not, Kurt knew he had to give Dave an explanation. That beautiful, big teddy bear looked so disappointed when he pulled away.

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><p>Dave suddenly remembered himself. He had to stop worrying over every little glance Kurt sent his way. He wasn't some girl. He was a successful man, proud and secure in himself. Of course, Kurt would pull away. Lots of people don't like kissing when they first wake up. Dave's morning breath was probably disgusting, made even worse by the fact that he'd dined the night before on Kurt's sweat and cum. He didn't want to disgust Kurt or make him feel self-conscious. But Kurt's mouth was just so wide, this lips so thick and inviting-<p>

He needed to get Kurt (and himself) a toothbrush. Fast.

"You can use my bathroom." The words tumbled out of his mouth. He probably seemed too eager, if the look Kurt was giving him was any indication. Dave quickly tried to back-peddle. "I mean...if you wanted, you could borrow a toothbrush or take a shower or something." Dave winced inwardly. God, he sounded like some awkward teenager.

"Do I really smell that bad?" There was a smile in Kurt's voice but Dave could tell it masked a genuine worry. Kurt had half-started to move off of Dave's body.

Dave reached out and grasped Kurt's arm, keeping his smaller body held against his. "No! I would kiss you right now if I could. I just want you to be comfortable."

"Okay. Well, I guess I could shower." Kurt said with a small smile.

"Great!" Dave was back into over-eager mode but he didn't care. He just wanted to get rid of Kurt's self-consciousness. He wanted them to go back to the way they had been just five minutes earlier—cuddling and sharing warmth.

Dave gently helped Kurt sit up. He couldn't resist pressing a small kiss to Kurt's hair as he did so. Who knew when he'd next get the opportunity? "The bathroom's right through here." He led Kurt from the bedroom into the adjacent master bath.

Dave's bathroom was huge, not that Kurt had come to expect anything less. Still, stepping through that doorway had been like walking into the pages of House Beautiful.

Every detail was perfection and the designer in Kurt couldn't help but notice and appreciate each one. The marble floors. The gleaming, curved steps leading up to an elegant, oversized clawed foot bath. There was definitely room for more than one man in that tub. Wooden detailing here and there gave the room a rustic, manly aura. But, the pièce de résistance was the designer vanity—the deep wood was melded with panes of hand-blown glass, coming together for a very modern look with a surprising amount of detailed carvings. Kurt just knew it was one of a kind.

"It's Michel's."

"Huh?" Damn, Kurt was just making a habit of seeming as inelegant as possible around Dave.

"The vanity—erm, I thought you were looking…Michel made it for me."

"Oh, right. He's a furniture designer. It's very beautiful."

"Yea, I like it too. Makes the room a bit different, y'know?"

"Yes." Kurt smiled over at Dave and Dave seemed to be struck dumb for a moment, just looking back at him with big eyes. Then he visibly shook himself and started moving about the bathroom quickly. Dave was adorable in his earnestness.

"I think I have an extra toothbrush here, somewhere." Dave began opening hidden marble drawers at random. Kurt was amazed at how they fit so well into the walls you would have never noticed there was so much extra storage space: a minimalist look with maximum usability, Kurt approved.

Finally, Dave pulled out an opened package of two toothbrushes, handing the one left in the plastic to Kurt. Kurt noticed that it was the same kind as the brush currently sitting in Dave's main cabinet. He found that endearing—the fact that Dave didn't have stores of supplies at the ready. It meant he didn't usually jump into bed with people. Or let them stay the night, at the very least. And that made Kurt feel special.

"You can use any of my shower stuff if you want."

Kurt put a delicate hand on Dave's shoulder and, facing his eyes, said: "Thanks Dave." He says the words with perhaps a bit too much seriousness and feeling for someone offering to let him shower. But Dave had taken him from crying in a public bathroom to feeling special and wanted, and he deserved all the thanks Kurt could give.

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><p>Dave couldn't shake his happy grin as he walked out of the bathroom. He was in absolute awe. There was a gorgeous (<em>and naked!<em>) Kurt Hummel in his bathroom. He didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing Kurt naked—not with all that beautiful pale flesh, that lithe dancer's body. And God, just watching him getting up from his bed (_his_ bed) and walking around with that lovely tight ass, like it was the most normal thing in the world…. Dave had come out so he could have mornings like this. Mm, what a delicious—

_{{I looked at the Rubens and Rembrandts…}}_

Suddenly Rufus Wainwright's voice started filling up the apartment. It was Jon's special ring on his cell phone. Dave sprang up, trying to find where he had thrown his phone the night before. Rufus' melodious tones led the way.

_{{I liked the John Singer Sargeants. He told me he liked Turner…}}_

Just as Jon's idol was about to make a pun on the name Turner, Dave found his phone tucked away by one of the side table lamps.

Dave clicked the call button, his face still open in a huge smile.

"Where the hell have you been?" An exasperated voice says into his ear.

"J-Jon?" He sputtered a bit, his smile instantly falling.

"Yes, it's Jon. Honey, you better be decent right now. I know it's Pride and all so I'm letting it go that you missed our morning workout. But, really, there is no way I'm letting you make me late to Rob and Jase's."

"What?"

"Oh, sweetie. How much did you have last night? Rob and Jase? Their Pride Sunday brunch? We go every year."

"I didn't forget…but right now? I was kinda-"

"Yes, right now. Honestly Dave, it's practically 11 and there is no way I'm letting you miss brunch or the parade. That's simply sacrilege. Now I'm almost at your place. I'm gonna pick up some coffee and I'll be up in like ten, okay?"

"Okay, Jon. I'll see you soon."

"And you better be decent!"

Dave smiled to himself as the line went dead. There was just no arguing with Jon sometimes, especially not on Pride. Jon had lost his religion when his parents disowned him; Pride was the only actual holiday he celebrated and damned if he didn't get as excited as a little kid on Christmas each year. He put his cell phone down on the kitchen counter…and heard the shower running.

He had just invited Jon over when Kurt Hummel, _a naked and showering Kurt Hummel_, was still in his home. _Damn_.

* * *

><p>"I should leave."<p>

Kurt had wandered out of the bedroom in just a flimsy green towel, hiding nothing. But the second he had heard Jon was coming over, he started tucking himself into his sinfully short shorts. Dave could already feel the loss. It was as if Kurt was putting up a barrier between them.

"No, no stay. We can all celebrate Pride together."

"I can't impose on your plans. I'll go. You have fun with…Jon."

"But you wouldn't be imposing! It's not just gonna be Jon and me. We're meeting up with a bunch of our friends. Really, they'd love to have you around."

Kurt's face took on a wry smile. "And, what, walk of shame it all day? No, I should go home and change." He said with finality.

"Okay…well, where do you live?" Dave almost added, "I could come with you." But even he knew that would sound too needy, too desperate. Truth was—he was feeling a little desperate. Dave was terrified that if he let Kurt leave now, he'd never see him again. That all they had shared last night would just become some cheap one-night stand. Something best left forgotten.

"I'm out in Williamsburg…well, closer to Greenpoint actually, but—"

"Brooklyn? You can't go to Brooklyn now." Dave said that without thinking and on some level he realized his tone of incredulity sounded a lot like Jon's. Kurt just gave him a look and started talking at a slow pace, "But Brooklyn is where I live…"

"Yea, but there's nothing out there. Half the gay world is coming to _Manhattan_ right now. All the subways are gonna be packed. C'mon, it'll take you at least 2 hours to go there and back, not to mention however long it takes a Fancy guy like you to choose an outfit. By that time it'll be hard to find a spot and you'll miss most of the parade!" Okay, so he definitely sounded like Jon right then. Perhaps they were spending too much time together…

Kurt looked like he was wavering. He was holding up his little grey shirt but he still hadn't put it on. Dave could only assume that was a good sign.

"But, Pride is like _the_ gay event of the year and I have nothing to wear except this."

"Well. You could always switch it up and just wear the shorts." Dave said with a slight grin.

Kurt snorted out a little laugh and Dave took a step closer.

"You certainly wouldn't be the only guy without a shirt." Another step forward. Dave quirked one of his naturally perfect eyebrows. "Or you could just scrap the outfit altogether, borrow one of my jockstraps." Dave's voice turned into a low, almost growl at that image. "Make every guy jealous."

He reached out and put a hand around Kurt's denim clad hips then leaned down for a kiss. Kurt tilted his head up and responded eagerly. Kurt's bare chest, warm from his shower, was brushing against Dave's much larger, solid torso through the thin material of his tee. Pulling Kurt closer against him, Dave nearly encircled his smaller, almost petite, frame…

Suddenly Dave could hear the tiny ding of the elevator doors opening, but he wasn't ready to let go of Kurt. He stubbornly tried to keep the smaller man in his embrace for as long as possible and deepened the kiss. A second later, though, Kurt tensed in his arms and pulled away. Jon was knocking at the door.

"Dave? You've had ample warning so I'm coming in whether you're decent or not." Even across the large living room and through the thick oak door, Dave could hear the smile in Jon's voice.

Kurt's eyes went wide as they both heard a key being put into the lock. He quickly threw on his grey shirt and, before Dave could say anything to stop him, disappeared back into the bedroom.

Dave hated that Kurt felt that uncomfortable, but even he understood how someone could be intimidated by Jon. Hell, Dave was just glad he had taken the time to throw on some boxers and a t-shirt. Not that he had anything Jon hadn't seen before…or, for that matter, had inside of him. But Dave didn't want to know how Jon would react if he hadn't even bothered to put_ something _on.

"_Hey there_." Dave turned. Jon looked radiant as he walked through the door, carrying a to-go tray with two steaming 'venti' mugs from Starbucks and holding a large bag over one shoulder. His smile was huge and toothy, more of a grin really. And it had the effect of making the 28-year-old, infinitely experienced model look like an innocent child.

Dave crossed the living room and took the tray off of Jon's hands. "Hey yourself." The two shared quick cheek kisses. It was how they always greeted each other. At first, it had weirded Dave out. For, as far as he had come in accepting himself, he still wasn't altogether comfortable with having a guy kiss him on the cheek in public. But Jon, stubborn as ever, kept doing it and Dave was kind of glad he never let up. Those little shows of affection really did help him feel happier in his own skin. And the difference between how he would treat his boyfriends before and after he met Jon was remarkable. Dave was like a different person, a more well-adjusted, more open lover.

"Mm, Happy Pride honey." Jon slung his bag over one of the kitchen stools at the bar, as if he was in his own home.

"You would not believe the kind of line I had to wait on at Starbucks. I swear, every queen and their hag is standing on your corner, waiting for their iced caramel macchiatos." Jon gave a little theatrical shudder.

Dave snorted out a quick, one-syllable laugh. "I'm sure. Thanks for getting these, though." He reached over and absentmindedly played with the lid of his no doubt double shot latte. No sugar or sweetener but a little dash of cinnamon, just as he liked it.

Jon shrugged, dismissing Dave's thanks. He reached over for his own cup from the tray and took a long sip. "So," he looked up at Dave and quirked an eyebrow into a playful leer, "how was the rest of your night?"

Dave blushed hotly, he couldn't help it. Jon just leaned forward, his eyes just begging for details. "That good?"

Dave desperately tried to control the burning of his face. Normally, he'd tell Jon everything—from how in shock he still was about not only seeing Kurt after so many years but getting to talk to him, getting to bring him back to his home, into his life, and then the sex itself. Dave had never received a blow job that amazing before. He felt like his whole essence had just drained into Kurt. …But, knowing Kurt could very well be listening in from the next room over, Dave just said: "Yea, it was something special."

Jon, bless him, picked up on his hesitation right away. He straightened his back a bit and mouthed the words, "Is he still here?" At Dave's insistent nod, Jon relaxed his curiosity, even if he did look a bit disappointed.

"So," Dave cleared his throat, "what about your night? What'd you end up doing?" He asked, in a not-so-subtle move to get the conversation away from him and Kurt.

Jon rolled his eyes as if to say, 'Not smooth, Dave, but I'll let you get away with it this time.' "I went home with the red angel."

Dave chuckled, genuinely amused. "Sounds like you two really got on a first name basis."

"Oh, who can remember these things? His name was…Trevor? Travis? It's something with a T anyway." At Dave's look, Jon held up his hands in a shrug. "He had a nice dick." He offered, as if proud to have remembered that much. Dave just shook his head, pretending to be stern.

"So what happened to your red angel this morning? Did you kick him out of bed at 6 so you could work out?" He asked, with a smile in his voice.

"God no…. I got rid of him last night. There was no way I was dealing with a potentially awkward morning after on Pride. Mm mm, no way." Jon cut Dave a look that clearly said, 'And you shouldn't have either.'

The look Dave gave him after that wasn't pretending to be stern. It was the face you most often see a parent give a stubborn child, the one that clearly says, 'Be nice.' The two held each other's gaze for a moment before Jon backed down with a simple shrug. They were used to communicating primarily through bodily language and there was no confusion over what that exchange had meant. Jon had committed himself to playing the happy-for-his-best-friend third wheel for the rest of the afternoon, or until he found a suitable guy for himself at the festivities.

Jon pitched his voice into a whisper. "So where is the illustrious Kurt now?"

"He's still in the bedroom."

"Oh? Did I… interrupt?" Sex infused Jon's voice.

Dave just gave a small smile and shook his head. "Nothing like that. I think he's ashamed to come out with what he was wearing yesterday."

Jon dropped his mock leer and looked genuinely baffled. "Why? The fact that he's here at this hour when_ you_ clearly haven't bothered getting dressed to go out—_don't think I hadn't noticed that by the way_—leaves no doubt as to the fact that he didn't go home last night. What does it matter what he wears?"

"I don't know…I guess he's just not used to this whole thing… Hell, I'm not used to this!"

"I know. Look at you. 'Saint Dave' taking a guy home straight from the club? …Please let me be the one to tell Eric about this."

Dave laughed under his breath, still trying to keep his voice down to a whisper. "No you cannot. And this _isn't_ like me! I don't know what I'm doing, Jon." The smile he let out belied any hint of worry those words might have signified. David was beaming, there were no ways around it. And bringing Kurt home last night had put that smile on this face.

Jon felt his own face melting into a smile. He couldn't help but be happy seeing Dave look so bright. "I'll tell you what you're going to do. You're going to get that self-conscious guy of yours out of the bedroom and we are going to get ready for Pride."

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><p>AN—I'm sorry that this bit is so short! I was planning to end my hiatus with a very long chapter on the boys' various Pride adventures. But I hate that I haven't posted in two months and I wanted to end my silence. The next part should be out soon!


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